Mistletoe
by SavedBySwift
Summary: John is confused when he returns home to find Sherlock decorating the house – with mistletoe. After all, Sherlock doesn't understand the social tradition of mistletoe... does he?


**Author's Note: This popped into my head during my Sunday dinner today. It's my first ever fanfiction, so reviews would be appreciated. I want you to be honest, too, so if you think it is terrible, please tell me, just... be nice?**

**Author's Note 2: I read this last night after I published it, as a reader, and spotted a load of typos, so I'm just editing that now :)**

"Sherlock? What are you doing?"

Sherlock's reply is muffled, his brow furrowed in concentration. "I'm trying to get _this_ to stick. Aha! Got it!"

John waits until Sherlock has descended the ladder and has both feet planted safely on the ground before he replies – it's never a good idea to attempt to engage Sherlock in conversation while he is doing anything which could potentially be dangerous. "What is that?"

"It's mistletoe. Obviously."

"But why is it there?"

"Mistletoe is a Christmas tradition, is it not?"

John shakes his head. As brilliant as Sherlock is, he really has no idea about social norms. "Sherlock, are you aware of the traditions associated with mistletoe at Christmas?"

Sherlock shakes his head, his eyes cast downwards. John laughs quietly. "Mistletoe is usually hung from ceilings at Christmas... for couples to kiss under. _Now_ what are you doing?"

Sherlock had begun to climb the ladder again at these words. "I'm taking this down, John. What does it look like?"

This is the thing with brilliant people, John muses. Their minds flit from idea to idea like butterflies, and it is impossible for someone less brilliant than themselves to decipher their thought processes. In this moment, John decides that he is decidedly _less_ brilliant than Sherlock. "But _why_?" he asks.

"Because you obviously have a problem with the fact that there is mistletoe in the flat, which means that you think that I'm going to kiss you, since that is the tradition, apparently, which seems to be something you don't want, so –"

"That's not true!"

Sherlock continues as if he hasn't heard John's interruption. "– I'm taking it down to prevent you from feeling uncomf..." He trails off quietly, his brain catching up with his ears. "What?"

John hurries into the kitchen, filling the kettle so as to ignore Sherlock. He had said too much. Those three words had most likely ruined the best friendship he had had in a long time. Although frankly, he couldn't see how Sherlock hadn't noticed his feelings before now. This was, after all, the man who had been able to deduce almost all of his recent history before they'd spoken more than a few words to each other. But then, feelings and emotions weren't something that came easily to Sherlock. Neither was deciphering them, either, apparently.

Only when John has flicked the switch down on the kettle does he dare to look at Sherlock. He sees him leaning against the doorframe, gazing at John in wonder. It is Sherlock who finally breaks the silence. "What do you mean, 'that's not true'? Does that mean you _do_ want me to kiss you?"

John blushes. "Sherlock... I've loved you from the moment I met you. I always thought that you didn't feel that way about me. Or anyone else, really, for that matter. But then I saw the mistletoe, and I thought that you might feel that way after all, and that this was your way of telling me. But then you didn't understand the tradition of kissing under the mistletoe, and I realised that it was nothing but a Christmas decoration to you. I shouldn't have objected to you thinking that I didn't want to kiss you, but my brain kind of stopped working. It does that around you sometimes. I'm sorry... I've made things really awkward between us now. Look, I'll just take this blasted mistletoe down, and I'll begin to look for another place to stay –" At this point, Sherlock takes John's hand and pulls him over to the doorframe where the mistletoe is hanging. He pushes the ladders down the corridor.

John looks at Sherlock, then at their hands, which are locked together, their fingers intertwined. Sherlock's free hand cups John's chin, and he moves his fingers up to stroke John's cheek.

"Sherlock?" John inquires. Sherlock places his index finger on John's lips to quieten him, then reaches for John's free hand. He gives John a searching look, as if asking permission to continue. All confusion forgotten, John nods, almost imperceptibly. He untangles his hands from Sherlock's, only to wrap them around Sherlock's waist, drawing them closer together. "I love you," he whispers, just before their lips brush in a sweet, chaste kiss. A sudden thought flashes across John's mind.

"Sherlock? Have you ever been kissed before?"

It is now Sherlock's turn to blush. "Until I met you, John, I'd never met anyone I wanted to kiss. Or anyone who wanted to kiss me, actually."

Almost before he finishes speaking, John pulls himself even closer to the taller man, kissing him again. "You did know about the social tradition of mistletoe, and kissing under it, didn't you?"

Sherlock laughs – a low, rumbling sound – and nods. "I've known all along how you feel, and I knew that you didn't think I reciprocated it. I just had to find a way to show you how I felt, and this seemed perfect to me."

John smiles. "You're brilliant, do you know that?"

"Yes. You've told me. In fact, you tell me that I am brilliant at least twice during every case we work on."

Resting his cheek on Sherlock's chest, John whispers, "Merry Christmas, Sherlock."

Sherlock kisses the top of Sherlock's head. "Merry Christmas, John."

**Author's Note 3: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you have a wonderful holiday, wherever you are. God bless you, every one.**


End file.
